


Psmith, Zombie Slayer

by Tibby



Category: Psmith - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-21
Updated: 2010-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tibby/pseuds/Tibby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London is under attack from a legion of zombies. Mike and Psmith find themselves right in the thick of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Psmith, Zombie Slayer

"Dignity, Comrade Jackson, dignity and decorum."

"All very well for you to say," Mike said, placidly. He kicked the scuffed foot of the bat he was holding. "But you know, old man, I'm not sure how much sway that will hold among these fellows."

Psmith lay a hand on his friend's shoulder, expertly playing the avuncular figure come to show young Jackson the true way.

"I think you underestimate the power of diplomacy," Psmith said with a faint, sympathetic smile, "What can be expected from violence but violence? Even these poor creatures, so devoid of grey matter, should be treated with respect such as any other being."

Mike nodded. He was a peace loving man himself. Still, he clutched the cricket bat in readiness. The zombie chaps might move slowly but they had already proven themselves a menace to Mike once they came too close.

There were a group of them heading down Saville Row, having spotted Mike and Psmith outside Turnbull and Asser. Mike had wanted to flee to the country as quickly as possible and Psmith had been all for the plan to begin with. However, they had met a group of undead near St. Paul's and Psmith had ended up with a train of red splatter marks across his best suit. He had insisted that they stop off at a reputable tailor's before taking any further action.

Of course, no one employed by Turnbull and Asser had been present when they arrived at the shop. So Mike had spent a good hour waiting impatiently, whilst Psmith tried on several pre-made suits and waistcoats (not to mention a good many more ties). It was just lucky that, as Psmith had pointed out, chaps with as little sartorial awareness as the undead would never be caught in such a place. That had proved true until now.

"Just talk to them, let them know they are wanted, and they will be as meek as lambs," Psmith continued.

Mike thought back to the people... the former people they had encountered on Bond Street. He held the cricket bat tightly in his hands, raising it ever so slightly, and tentatively questioned Psmith.

"What if one of them tries to take a bite out of you?"

"Then," said Psmith, peaceably, "I give you full permission to whack 'im to next Tuesday."


End file.
